


The Ribbon

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve, and McCoy can’t wait to open his present.</p><p><b>Disclaimer</b>: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.<br/><b>Author’s notes</b>: thanks to beta reader awarrington</p><p>Intriguing snippet: <i>“Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_~Christmas Eve~_  
McCoy hypoed himself to counter the effect of the generous shot of whiskey he’d finished up a while ago.

It was time to get back to work and yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have been drinking while on duty, but since the only person who’d have him up for unprofessional conduct was the captain, and he’d been the one _doing_ the pouring, he wasn’t going to waste any time on worrying. Plus, it _was_ Christmas Eve and it had been a helluva couple of hours.

It was hard to believe that Wentworth’s face, peaceful in sleep had, only a few hours ago, been that of a grimacing, twisting, howling gargoyle. He’d been brought in from engineering, suffering third-degree burns, his uniform soaked by the automatic fire retardant released within seconds of the flare up. McCoy checked the readings again, even though it had only been a few minutes since he last had. Wentworth was fine; he was going to be fine.

McCoy’s shift had finished three hours ago, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the boy’s side. Fuck, it was Christmas Eve and okay, they were in space where there was no up or down, no snow, no sleigh bells and, he thought with a hitch in his chest, no family, but you had to keep these traditions going to mark out one day from the others, else you’d end up crazy.

He stepped through the sterile field and dimmed the lights. Wentworth was the only patient.

The ship was on skeleton crew, the rest either on shore leave, or in their quarters, excused from duty. He’d missed the Christmas Eve meal. Jim had popped in on the way back to bring him some pie and to check on the kid. McCoy had insisted Christine and the two other nurses on duty take an hour off to see if there was any ice-cream left in the mess. Sure, it was mostly for their benefit, but he’d wanted a few minutes alone with Jim. They’d shared a drink before he headed up to the bridge to relieve Spock for a few hours.

McCoy scooped two glasses from the bedside table, tacky on the palms of his hands. He remembered how he’d spilled his when Jim had unexpectedly said, “Screen!” And clamped his hands to McCoy’s hips, his tongue probing at his ear before the privacy curtain had even finished its descent and, thank goodness, shielding the unconscious Wentworth from the sight of his captain and CMO making out a few feet away.

McCoy huffed out a long sigh and tried to ignore the flame at his groin when he remembered Jim’s whisky-laced promise.

“Later, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna think it’s Christmas come early,” hot breath condensing against McCoy’s ear.

For the first time in hours, McCoy had allowed himself to unwind an infinitesimal amount as he leaned into Jim, his hands slipping under his gold shirt to rest against warm skin. He may have moaned a little when Jim dragged at an earlobe with his teeth. Their groins found each other, slotting into place like homing birds, hard and aching. They both knew they were teasing, that this was going nowhere despite Jim walking him backwards as far as McCoy’s office door, where at least it was dark. They’d made out some, groped each other through their uniforms, letting out needy little gasps until Jim gave one final squeeze at McCoy’s ass.

“What do you have to say to that, Doctor?”

McCoy had completely lost the thread. He cleared his throat, “I—” Oh, yes, something about Christmas coming early. “Well, kid, you never know, I might jus’ decide to fuck _you,”_ he growled, trying for his best defiant look, although he knew the combination of a long shift, an empty stomach and a generous measure of whiskey probably made him look about as mean as a garden gnome – if Jim’s bright eyed grin was anything to go by.

“I made you spill your drink,” Jim said. “That’s a waste, Bonesy—“ He took McCoy’s right hand and licked his fingers, his tongue fucking the spaces between them, eyes on his all the time, daring him to do something, although McCoy had no idea what.

“Don’t call me Bonesy, asshole,” McCoy groused, indulging in one more kiss. He took a moment to inhale from Jim’s neck, whatever that smell was that was just _him,_ banishing the stench of burned flesh that hadn’t been able to get out of his mind up to then, with something clean, something outdoorsy, something… fuck it, he was a doctor not a— “You should go. I have work to do.”

Jim looked at him from under eyelids at half-mast, his eyes like the sea at night in the subdued lighting. He looked tired too. “You really want me to go?” He dragged a finger from McCoy’s mouth to chest, and drew a circle over his nipple through his uniform. “I could have a word with Spock.“ He rubbed his nose against McCoy’s neck. “ _Fuck_ you smell good.”

“I showered half an hour ago,” McCoy said against the top of Jim’s bent head. He’d really needed that shower. He thought back to the calm yet urgent bustle when half a dozen of them had attended to Wentworth.

With all the advances in medicine, there still was only one way to deal with severe burns, debridement, which involved the removal of the destroyed tissue, to leave a clean, raw base on which the regens could do their work. It was going to take weeks before this kid looked half-human again, bubbled skin and flesh stretching from his throat to his hip and almost destroying his right arm. They’d fix it, no problem. It just needed time.

“Screen up,” McCoy had said with a sigh. Still wrapped around each other, they turned to look at Wentworth.

“Okay,” Jim said, planting one last wet kiss on the corner of McCoy’s mouth. “See you in a few hours. I’ll comm you – and finish up, okay? Get Christine to cover, she can take care of Wentworth. _I_ need you.” He waggled his eyebrows like a bad actor. “And I got you a present. “ He clapped McCoy on the arm and sauntered out with what could only be described as a lascivious grin plastered across his annoyingly handsome face.

++

McCoy woke up, his face stuck to a PADD.

 _Bridge to Sickbay, this is Captain Kirk._

McCoy jerked his head up and rested an elbow on his desk, chin on his hand. With the other he pressed the comm wearily.

“What?”

 _“Why are you in such a bad mood?”_

“You’re not on the bridge, are you?” McCoy pushed his chair away from the desk, and stretched his arms to the side, flexing his chest. He couldn’t hold back a yawn.

 _“Go to visual, Bones.”_ There was something in his voice – the bastard was up to something.

“Jim—” McCoy looked over his shoulder, through the open door of his office to see if Wentworth needed anything. He was dimly aware that Chapel was moving about, so he twizzled his chair and hit the control to close his door to afford a little privacy. “Visual!” he said and the monitor flickered to life. _“Jesus,_ Jim!”

 _“Do you like it, Bones?”_

How could he not like the photo of his captain sitting on The Chair? Legs crossed, shoulders back, head to the side, elbows resting on the control panels – in, fucking, _charge._ And, minor detail, _completely naked._

“Computer, lock the door and activate the privacy screen,” McCoy said unfastening his pants.

Who the fuck had taken this and when? He wanted to tear their heads off and thank them at the same time. “Jim, are you tryin’ to kill me?” he growled, cupping his hand over the bulge in his pants before fumbling them open. “You’re a bastard, you know this don’t you?”

Jim’s chuckles should have made him mad. “Sulu’s finding this very amusing, McCoy,” he said.

McCoy stilled, then couldn’t help laughing.

“Where are you?” he said.

“Here. Wanna come and join me?” Now that Jim was busted and McCoy knew he wasn’t on the bridge, he changed his tone so it became conspiratorial and sexy. The words enveloped McCoy’s cock as if it had been his dirty mouth touching him.

“Nice photo.” McCoy tried for nonchalant which was a pretty impressive feat considering he was fisting himself hard, pants pushed down to his knees.

But Jim must have heard the rustle of fabric, or picked up something in his voice. “Come and get the real thing, Bonesy.” Ah, McCoy knew the expression that went with that voice, the dirty, _pouty_ voice, like it wasn’t Jim’s fault he made you harder than hell. McCoy wanted to snark, he really did, but he had to concentrate. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair.

“Who took the photo?” he ground out, stretching his legs out under the desk, and cupping his balls.

“Sulu?”

“Fuck off.”

“Okay – me?” He heard Jim hitch a breath, maybe he was doing just what McCoy was—” I’m good at manipulation. You always…uf… said that.” Ah, he _definitely_ was.

“Son-of-a—”

“Come up here, _baby._ “The dirty, pouty…if Jim thought he could just make him—

“I’m _busy,_ Jim.”

“I’ll bet.” There was a little moan right _there._ He wasn’t even hiding the fact he was jerking off.

“No… I really am… _shit—”_ McCoy changed his rhythm, longer, harder strokes. Fuck, he was so close, maybe he should—

“I want to give you your Christmas present.”

“—”

“Bones?”

How McCoy managed to make it up to Jim’s quarters with a boner like that was beyond him, but here he was, slightly bow-legged, ready to press the chime. He wasn’t going to stay. Honestly. He needed to make it clear to the glorious bastard that he was a professional and, with there being only a skeleton crew, someone had to keep an eye on sickbay. Okay, it was only two decks down and Chapel could comm him, but he wasn’t about to leave poor Wentworth like that.

The door swished open. He stepped through, squinted in the dim light and saw Jim had safe candles burning on his small table, music playing, something old and bluegrassy – Jim’s seduction music. If the musical choice made McCoy a little sad, drop his guard, then Jim was usually on his lap and pulling his shirt over his head before the first chorus.

“Over here.” Jim was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the covers bunched up around his waist. “Lights ten per cent,” He said, not ‘hi’, not ‘here’s your present’, not ‘sorry for interrupting you at work’.

“You want me to break my neck?” McCoy stayed by the door, arms folded, wondering what the smell was – why didn’t Jim put his damn laundry in the chute?

“Get over here, Bones.” Jim pointed to a space near him, like McCoy was his cat or something and had special dispensation to sleep on the bed.

“Oh _good,_ you put some clothes on,” McCoy said.

In a manner of speaking. Jim was wearing a Santa hat and a smirk. That was all.

McCoy wasn’t quite sure how he hadn’t come in his pants right then, he looked so fucking edible.

“Jim, you’re thirty,” he said, trying for a growl, when all he wanted was to kiss that smirk right off his perfect face. He bent down to remove his boots.

“True, but my dick’s eighteen.” He patted the bed again, then flexed his arms behind his head, adjusted his hat and turned the smirk up to eleven.

Sometimes McCoy wondered how Jim got away with this smirk face of his. On anyone else it would have smacked of insolence, of sarcasm, but Jim’s smirks were all about sharing. It was like he was saying, _You and me, we’re on the same page; you know I’m gorgeous/a genius/right again/a badass. I know it._ It seemed Jim bonded with people through agreeing how wonderful he was. Good thing McCoy was around to keep him grounded, huh?

The hat was a little small for Jim. Red velvet, with a white fake-fur trim, it had slipped back a little so his hairline peeked out. If McCoy had been a woman, he’d have said the red brought out the blue of Jim’s eyes. His cock, as hot as a solid object could be before it turned to goddamn gas, reminded McCoy that, no matter how sappy this blue-eyed demon made him feel, he most certainly was this side of male.

“Do you like your present, Bones?” Jim blinked up at McCoy, his voice laced with what for him was coy, but from any other, non-genius, mere mortal would have smacked of arrogance. McCoy almost stumbled to the bed in his haste to unwrap his ‘present’, the gift-wrap being the sheet and—

McCoy gathered up Jim’s hands in his and pulled Jim up to his knees so their chests were pressed together, blue uniform against pale, freckled skin that hadn’t seen real sun for weeks. Jim’s mouth was so close to his he could smell coffee, whiskey, some kind of spice from dinner earlier; his eyes open, pupils blown wide with want.

“Jesus, Jim, the way you look, you may have condemned me to priapism.”

“What a way to go, huh?”

Soft, saliva-slick lips dragged across his, and McCoy just took it, eyes closed, enjoying the anticipation, not quite giving in; it wasn’t his way and he knew Jim loved it when there was a frisson of reluctance. Warm breath, strong fingers against his jaw as he pulled Jim to him, slid his hands across smooth skin and defined muscle down to Jim’s ass.

“Where’d you get the hat?”

“Gaila. D’ya like it?” Jim took a moment to run his eyes from McCoy’s eyes to mouth, leaned in again, kissed him on the jaw, swayed back against his hard grip. He looked so beautiful McCoy wanted to flip Jim on his back, lever his ass off the bed, have those legs wrapped round his neck, have Jim shoved against the headboard so he couldn’t escape, show him he wasn’t the one who got to say when and how.

“’S’okay,” he drawled, nudging his cock forward. “You could have wrapped it.”

“I did, Bonesy.”

McCoy was just about to complain again, say something like he was a doctor and not a gir— when Jim untangled McCoy’s arms from behind him, giving him the space to stand up on the bed so the sheet fell away to reveal McCoy’s _real_ present. The hat had simply been the outer case of a Russian doll hiding the real treasure inside.

 _“Fuck_ , Jim.”

A bolt of heat coiled through McCoy’s groin and thighs, and his heart flipped with gratitude as he wolfed down the vision of Jim’s beautiful, hard cock at eye level garnished with a green ribbon. He gnawed at his lower lip, his hands fumbling for his shirt.

“Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”

Jim tilted his hips forward so his cock danced obscenely. “Wanna unwrap me some more?”

“Maybe.”

Jim laughed. “Come here, you grouch, I like unwrapping things, too.” He stepped elegantly off the bed and finished removing McCoy’s undershirt which had tangled over one shoulder in his hurry to undress. He nuzzled his face into McCoy’s armpit and breathed deep.

“Bones, need you to—”

“Slow down, you idiot.” McCoy threw his head back when Jim dug his nails into his ribs and dragged them a little roughly down to his hips, his short hair tickling him as Jim moved.

“No, you’ve kept me hanging on too long and I want my present.” Jim’s voice was muffled against McCoy’s chest, his breath hot, moist, and McCoy dug his fingers into his shoulders while skilled hands unfastened his zipper and worked his pants down his thighs. “Oh, Bones,” Jim chuckled, “you _shouldn’t have!_ ” And before McCoy could rearrange his brain cells and think of something coherent to say, that wicked mouth engulfed his cock, teeth raking while simultaneously scouring short nails down McCoy’s balls, releasing a gasp of surprise. He clung to Jim’s hair, nudged his head down and forward and then it was all soft, wet lips, gentle kneading, and he felt his legs buckle, the sound of Jim’s moans below him, and his own ragged gasps filling his head, making him want to—

“Jim, stop, shit _stop_ or I’ll come.”

Cool air hit him when Jim let go, stood up, took McCoy’s hand and turned it so he could plant a kiss on the palm. Struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to breathe, McCoy made one supreme effort, circling and squeezing the base of his cock with his free hand. The music cut in again; for a while there, it had been just McCoy and his heart beat, his lungs, his cock, Jim’s heated gaze, the pressure at the base of his spine; he couldn’t hear anything.

“’kay,” McCoy ground out. “Get on the bed. I’m done waitin’.”

Obediently, Jim stretched out. He looked calm, faintly ridiculous in his Santa hat and decorated cock, but also unbelievably beautiful, McCoy thought. His throat thickened as he finally felt like he’d regained some control over the urge to pound into his ass without lube, without any preparation, to show him just how fucking _annoying_ he was. His eyes scanned the long, lightly muscled limbs, the defined, yet slender chest, the trail of hair from pectorals to cock. What was it – nearly seven years? And he still couldn’t get enough of him.

He stretched out beside Jim on the bed and cupped the crown of Jim’s head with both hands while blue eyes fixed on his face, watching him.

“I thought you were done waiting,” Jim whispered.

And McCoy didn’t know why, after all this time, it still gave him so much pleasure to touch Jim’s face, to smooth those eyelids, trace his dark eyebrows with a thumb. Jim never resisted McCoy’s explorations. Even naked, there was still so much to discover about him. Jim rested his hands on McCoy’s arms, moaning while McCoy’s tongue explored the hard muscles of his neck, his nose brushing against the fine hairs of his chest, the contour of muscles shifting under glowing skin. His thumb skated over Jim’s belly button, and he keened under him, fingers gripping McCoy tighter, urging him on as his thumb was replaced by his tongue and his hands found purchase in the slope of skinny hips.

McCoy knew that the pleasure for Jim in these moments came from watching McCoy’s control unravel. For now, he was able to indulge his perverse pleasure in ignoring Jim’s cock. He seemed programmed to always leave the best to last. Their love-making was often a fight between McCoy’s patience and control and Jim’s _fuck me now,_ his ‘I want to savor this moment’, one more lick, one more bite, one more thrust and Jim’s _make me come, come on, Bones, fuck me._

“So knowing what you’re getting for Christmas hasn’t… _fuck_ … spoiled the surprise?” Jim managed to ask, liquid eyes, ebony with arousal as McCoy’s lubed fingers scissored inside him.

“Jim—” McCoy gulped, pulling his fingers out. “I really need that skinny ass sometime soon…you’re killing me… _oh—”_ and sweet _mercy,_ Jim was sinking over him, enveloping him, that ludicrous ribbon dancing with each slow shift of Jim’s hips as he worked his tight heat down.

McCoy waited, held back, he really did but, when he felt Jim’s balls _finally_ settle against his groin, when he was as far inside him as he could be, it still wasn’t enough and his resolve slipped out of his hands like a muddy football.

“Jesus, _God_ you turn me on,” McCoy complained, bucking up hard and fast, trying to crawl inside him. Jim held onto the headboard, his other hand on his cock, keeping time with McCoy’s assault under him.

“Oh, Bones, so… _close,_ hard, for fuck’s sake – _hard—_ ”

Pale skin against tan, sweat glistening on Jim’s flushed neck, McCoy placed his hand over Jim’s as he jerked his cock faster, so the two of them fucked, both of them moaned and keened, and somehow, miraculously like the perfect match they were, they came hard, stilling, Jim’s mouth an awe-struck ‘o’. McCoy reached for the ribbon and in one deft movement undid it, then pulled Jim towards him, not quite sure whose orgasm he was surfing until he came back down to earth at the sound of Jim’s chuckles and the soft bump of the hat landing on his face.

The vibration from Jim’s laughter transmitted to his groin. He picked up the hat by the tip and swiped it weakly against Jim’s face.

“Was that blasphemous?” McCoy said, trying not to grin, his chest still heaving.

Jim eased himself free with a grimace. “Ow,” he said, falling onto McCoy, half over the length of his body, half on the mattress. “Maybe on some planet somewhere…maybe we just made some harvest fail or something.” He groaned, “ And I think I threw my back out.”

McCoy stroked Jim’s shoulders with heavy hands. “Holy shit—” He looked at Jim. “We’re going to have to hose down the bed.”

Jim’s hand came up to his face and pushed McCoy’s bangs away from his eyes. “That’s better, now I can _see_ your crow’s feet.”

“Idiot.” He ran his thumb over Jim’s swollen lips; he hadn’t mentioned the smattering of gray hairs he’d spotted over the past few months.

“The idiot you love,” Jim said, sounding half asleep already.

McCoy pulled him closer and buried his mouth in Jim’s hair. “Maybe—”

Jim pinched his arm. “I’m fucking irresistible and you know it.”

He tilted Jim’s face towards his lips. “Yes,” he said.

They kissed languorously, tongues exploring, still wanting. It was a miracle, McCoy realised. He closed his eyes, desperate to black out after all the brain and groin melting, but Jim seemed to have gotten a second wind.

“Yes _what?_ ‘Yes, I’m irresistible’, or ‘Yes you love me’?”

Bones cracked open an eye. “Is it Christmas yet?”

Jim craned towards the chrono, squinting to bring it into focus.

“Yes! Five minutes ago!”

“Yes, then.”

“To which one?”

“To both.” McCoy tried for his best gruff voice but Jim wasn’t buying it. His mouth was covering McCoy’s again, his breath sharing space with his, lapping at McCoy’s bruised upper lip like it was mother’s milk – and there, for some reason, Wentworth popped into McCoy’s head. Wentworth and his fucked up skin and destroyed nerve endings, and McCoy couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be him, to not be able to feel something like this, what he had with Jim, the flutter of that tongue against chin and lips, the caress of strong fingers at his jaw; what would it be like not to be able to feel the warmth?

“Jim, I need to go back…that poor bastard—”

“Yeah,” Jim sat up at once. “Let’s go - we can shower later.”

++

 _~Very, very, early, Christmas Morning~_

They’d pulled chairs up close, just reading lights and nightlights in sickbay, choral music on so quiet you almost couldn’t hear, the only other sounds, the occasional bleep from the biobed and the hum of the regens positioned around Wentworth.

Chapel had gone, McCoy still bristling from the chaste kiss she’d insisted on giving him before she left, Jim still smirking from the victorious look she’d shot him.

“Here,” he said, handing Jim a whiskey, “and don’t spill it; this is the good stuff.”

McCoy hooked one denim-clad leg over the arm of the chair, a bare foot gleaming in what little light there was.

“I got you something else,” Jim said a while later.

“Jim, it’ll be a fucking week before I can get it up—” But Jim had thrust a PADD into his hands and McCoy recognised the ribbon tied loosely around it. “What’s this?”

Jim looked at him, looked to Wentworth.

“Fire it up, you’ll see. It’s a surprise.” He sipped his drink, watching McCoy for a reaction.

It was a video and McCoy bought his hand to his mouth, glanced at Jim, shook his head, when he heard, when he saw Joanna.

 _“Daddy, oh Da-ddy!  
You’re the loveliest daddy—”_ she sang.

Her dark hair standing up all over the place, he knew when this was; he’d just wrestled her good-naturedly to the couch and knuckled her hair before he’d gone out to drive Gram to town, her giggles ringing in his ears. He’d left her with Jim, who now watched him intently as McCoy watched the screen, listened to the rest of the song,

 _“The loveliest daddy in all of the worrrrld!”_

McCoy made out the clumsy _twangggg_ as someone played guitar behind her and he managed to take his eyes off her image for a second and look behind to the figure of Jim in white t and shorts, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, a little indented v between his eyebrows as he concentrated, then a clumsy pause, he looked up and joined in with Joanna.

 _“You’re grouchy and frownie,  
Smell like chocolate brownies-“ twanggg—_

“She made up the words,”Jim said, looking at his feet.

 _“Oh daddy oh daddy oh daaaad!”_ her beautiful giggles rang out as she jumped up and down in front of a delighted looking Jim, who’d put the guitar down and was clapping as she danced and bounced in front of the screen.

“Happy Christmas!” they chorused. Jo-Jo waved and the video ended there.

McCoy’s chest ached. He took a deep breath and before he could compose himself, Jim was standing by him. His knuckles swept across McCoy’s moist cheek, as he bent to kiss the top of his head.

“You’re welcome,” Jim said quietly into his hair. They held each other for a moment until a sound came from the bed and they pulled apart.

“Wentworth?” McCoy said, his voice thick with feeling. He cleared his throat. “How you doin’?”

“Nice hat, sir—” Wentworth croaked.

McCoy felt his neck flush as Jim’s boot nudged his ankle.

“Yeah, well…Happy Christmas, Ensign,” he drawled, looking at Jim and holding his glass aloft, taking Jim’s hand and squeezing. “Here’s to family!”

“Family,” Jim agreed, squeezing right back and settling down for the night in his chair next to McCoy’s.

FIN


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intriguing snippet: _”What you looking for, Bonesy, my present?” Even though the only thing Jim could possibly want or need in his life was right there in front of him he realised with a sigh. Well, maybe a slightly less petulant version than this._

**Title** : The Ribbon 2/2  
 **Rating** : nc-17 – ho, ho, ho!  
 **Character/Pairing** : Kirk/McCoy   
**Wordcount** : approx 3,800 words complete  
 **Summary** : Christmas Day, and Jim is wondering what Bones has got him for Christmas. This part only works if you’ve read  part one  first  
 **Warnings** : schmoop

 

**The Ribbon – part 2**

_~Later Christmas Morning~_

Jim didn’t dare move. It was the kind of back pain where, he knew from bitter experience, the slightest twist one way or the other could end up with him immobile. It had last happened a few months ago when he’d insisted on helping out Scotty with a problem which involved sliding into a Jeffries tube. They’d had to remove a section to get him out and he’d ended up shuffling around for a couple of days. So now, he needed to take stock – before it got worse.

Yeah, it was probably safe to crack open an eye... you couldn’t hurt your back moving an eyelid, could you?

He’d fallen asleep in sickbay with his ass on one chair, feet up on another, McCoy’s makeshift bed alongside his. Bones had gone, and Jim had no idea what time it was – certainly some time into a skeleton Alpha shift. Looking at the chrono would involve standing closer to it; great, so now he had shit eyesight _and_ a shitty back. And the threat of a hangover. Jesus, he was only thirty but, right now, he felt a lot older. The perils of much hand to hand combat over the years, and over enthusiastic cowboy sex. He’d have to remind that lazy bastard that it might be his turn to top for a change ‘stead of leaving him to do all the work.

Someone had tossed a blanket over him and it now lay across Jim’s legs in a tangle. And he needed to pee. Which would involve moving.

“Captain?”

“Oh, hi, Christine, you couldn’t just help me up, could you?”

Blue eyes and perfect, blonde hair loomed into his field of vision.

“Are you injured? Should I fetch Dr McCoy?” her voice, measured, caring, professional.

“No, I’m fine. I think. Just give me a pull up, would you?” He felt Chapel’s cool hands encircle his wrists. “What time is it?”

“10:07, Sir.”

“Where _is_ Bones?” Jim said. He lowered his legs to the floor in slow motion. So far, so good. Then a _twang_ when he dropped his feet from the supporting chair and they settled on the floor. “Wait, _wait_ \- just let me—”

 _Damn_ , add a morning boner to the stiff back. Thank God he had the blanket but, as he’d long suspected, Chapel had mind-reading abilities. She let go of his wrists and stepped away with an expression that said something like: I’ve-seen-more-of those-than-you’ve-had-meatloaf, _Captain_ , all without twitching any facial muscles other than those needed to arch an eyebrow.

“Dr McCoy is taking a shower, Sir.” She nodded towards the far side of sickbay.

Memories of the night before flooded back. It was no wonder he’d woken up with a hard-on. Now, the thought of McCoy in the shower and thinking about _why_ he needed that shower so badly. _Shit_ \- he’d just have to stay put with the blanket on his lap until he could will the problem away. It didn’t matter, he was off duty, and sickbay felt like a second home sometimes.

Christine moved to his left and busied herself elsewhere, to reveal Wentworth prone on the bio-bed, regen machines placed either side of his face, and the length of his torso, the hypodermis raw, gleaming yet protected by the sterile field around him.

“Wentworth, you’re awake!” Jim jumped to his feet without thinking. He gasped when a white hot bolt of pain locked his back. He cursed, the blanket bunched in his right hand, to cover his embarrassment. Hell, at least he was upright. In more ways than one. He took a deep breath and risked a counter stretch against stiff muscles, “Merry Christmas, Wentworth,” he managed to say, ashamed he’d even think this was something you could call pain.

“Your back alright, Sir?” Wentworth’s voice was a little croaky, his throat ripped by smoke inhalation during the accident.

Jim shook his head, couldn’t believe this kid, asking after him when he was in that state. He shuffled the two steps to the bed,

“Hey, don’t mind me; I’m just getting old, Ensign.” He smiled and ran his hand through his hair, wondering what he looked like needing a shave and stinking of booze and sleep-breath. “I hope McCoy’s snoring didn’t keep you up last night.”

Wentworth couldn’t move his head, couldn’t turn to look at Kirk. “I woke up a couple of times, Sir, saw you there—” His eyes flickered towards Jim, red-rimmed and traumatized by his experience.

Jim cleared his throat. “Well, I need to go and take a shower too; we’ll bring you some Christmas food down later, okay?”

“Nil by mouth, Jim.” It was McCoy, dressed in scrubs, towelling his hair, forehead furrowed as he contemplated Jim who somehow resisted the urge to grab his broad shoulders and kiss him there in front of everyone. Sure sickbay was pretty quiet but nurses were in and out, and there was Wentworth, of course. “And why are you standing like you got a stick up your ass?” McCoy twisted the towel and draped it round his neck.

“I did something to my back.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Did you now? I’ve got some ointment in my office.”

Jim looked at McCoy’s long fingers gripping the towel, imagined them touching his back, his ass—

“I’ll be with you in a second, Bones, just need to sort Wentworth out!” And take a pee.

“So you’re a nurse now?”

Jim mentally filed _that_ possible scenario for another time.

“No,” he grinned, “I thought I’d help him choose a movie.” Sure the computer could do that but it wouldn’t have had that nice captainly touch, would it?

McCoy’s huffed and spun on his heel to head for the office, and Jim really didn’t look at his ass as he walked away.

Well, this was a surprise, Jim thought in the bathroom. He didn’t know you used your back muscles to piss. He freshened up with some wipes, swilled his mouth out with water and grinned then winced in the mirror at his reflection.

“You lucky fucking bastard, Jim Kirk,” he said and waddled across sickbay, back to Wentworth’s side where he passed ten minutes or so going through some movie options. They steered clear of Christmas movies, even rejecting A Muppet Christmas Carol because laughing wouldn’t have been a good idea, pain relief or no pain relief.

“He wanted wildlife documentaries,” Jim said, leaning on the office door, ”No danger of family gatherings and real fires on the Serengeti…” His eyes raked up and down McCoy’s rangy form. “Unless you’re a lion, that is.” McCoy had his back to him, half bent over while he rummaged through a drawer, his perfect ass cheeks taunting Little Jim through the light fabric of his scrubs. God, the amount of times he’d tugged those down in one movement and blown him on that very desk. ”And I promised him we’d take our plates down at lunch, you know, if that’s okay with you.” Damn, _something_ was up. ”What you looking for, Bonesy, my present?” Even though the only thing Jim could possibly want or need in his life was right there in front of him he realised with a sigh. Well, maybe a slightly less petulant version than this. McCoy ignored him. “Do I even _get_ a present?” No answer.

Shit. There was a definite coolness. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the present? Or lack of one. Like he gave a damn; Jim knew Bones would at some point during the day, probably one minute before midnight, give him bourbon (which was really for both of them) the ‘good stuff not this replicated shit’, just like he did every Christmas and birthday. An image of McCoy’s gasping, sweat-sheened face beneath him while Jim bounced on his lovely cock flashed in his mind’s eye, which made his cock and back fire simultaneously. Damn. He really _needed_ to kiss him, so he caught McCoy’s arm, the first time they’d touched since he’d woken up, since they’d fallen asleep, holding hands in their matching chairs, ‘Like a pair of winded old bastards in a retirement home,’ McCoy had mumbled affectionately.

While McCoy didn’t shake him off, he also didn’t in any way acknowledge Jim’s touch. “Bones?” he said, worry working into the pit of his stomach.

McCoy shot him an impenetrable look, dropped his eyebrows till they almost fell over his eyes and then looked away. He fiddled with the tricorder. Undeterred, Jim angled across him, winced, and hit the door control. It glided shut behind them. He didn’t have long; had to check on Spock even though he’d promised he’d stay off the bridge all day – plus there was the matter of the much needed shower. But his cock told him, he needed that kiss more - McCoy wasn’t officially on duty either so he could drop the I’m _working_ , Jim act.

“So how do you want me?” he tried, with his best come-hither voice which, he realised probably sounded more desperate than seductive but he also knew tended to melt McCoy’s defences better than three fingers of Kentucky’s finest. The combined image of the miniature Christmas tree on the shelf above the desk and McCoy immovable face suddenly reminded him of the run-up to yuletide in Iowa, with Winona unlocking his eight-year old fingers from her skirt as she got into her car to—

Okay, this wasn’t like Bones, but something must have pissed him off and Jim knew from experience that when McCoy brooded, he needed to be left well alone. “I know you like me bent over the desk,” he said, “but I can see you’re mad with m… _about_ … something. You’re wearing your grade A scowl there, the one reserved for visiting ambassadors - guess you’ll tell me in good time, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Okay. Dropping it. _Fine_.

“It’s here,” Jim said, pointing to the small of his back. McCoy cocked his head and nodded at the desk, “fucking hurts.” Jim bent over with caution and sank onto his elbows, his ass in the air. He pulled his shirts up as best he could manage without hissing in pain and tried to push McCoy’s uncharacteristic silence out of his head, tensing up even as the tricorder scanned his back. McCoy set it down on the desk.

Jim watched over his shoulder, while McCoy opened a pot of ointment, scooped a dollop with two fingers and rubbed it into his hands to warm it, which made him think of lube and woke up Little Jim all over again. He might be hobbling like an old guy but he hadn’t been kidding the night before when he said his dick was eighteen. It didn’t help having McCoy all purposeful and focused and ignoring him. While Jim always respected personal boundaries, over the past seven years this little fuck game had developed where he pushed, McCoy resisted and so on, to and fro, and it made the capitulation so fucking sweet and hot. _Shit_ , he’d let out a moan, he was pretty sure. But if he had, McCoy didn’t respond in any way.

McCoy’s strong hands on the small of his back and the warmth from the unguent soon relaxed him a little. McCoy smoothed even circles along Jim’s lumbar region. Jim could imagine him reciting the muscle names as he stroked him, he knew that McCoy used to do that to stop himself coming sometimes, long strings of medical words. He’d never shared what he often did, which was to recite poetry, steering clear of anything too horny. Generally Chaucer, because it ‘sounded’ good and he didn’t get lost in the meaning of the words. He might need to do some of that in a minute, the shove against the desk as McCoy worked his back, awakening some muscle memory of times they’d fucked on here.

A pause while McCoy got more ointment – his thumbs worked half circles up from his spine and out starting at the _erector spinae_ —

“Fuck, _ow_ … yeah, there.”

Normally Bones would call him an infant at this point, but nothing. This silence was more than disconcerting, it was beginning to make him mad; it was like last night hadn’t happened. Maybe the vid hadn’t been a good idea. They’d been feeling good before that, wrapped in afterglow, a bit of whiskey, his cock felt like it might have had its fill for once. And Bones looked so cute in the hat, toasting to Wentworth. He’d thought the vid would bring Joanna closer, instead it looked like it had just reminded Bones how far away she was. Maybe something else was bothering him…

McCoy’s thumbs pushed their way under Jim’s shirts and stayed a moment. _What_? Jim looked over his shoulder at him. That beautiful, sombre face, definitely more lines than when they’d first met. Jim thought he looked a little drawn but then again, the only time McCoy looked peaceful was when he’d just come. Not to mention - goofy.

“Bones?”

“Uh-huh?”

He didn’t step away from Jim, just put the lid back on the ointment, pulled Jim’s shirts down and then smiled, this fucking heart-breaking, wide smile that sank into Jim’s limbs better than any ointment could have done, warming him, making his cock jump like there was some invisible thread from those lips to his groin – and just putting that into a sentence in his head made it worse. He edged around, taking care with his back, to face McCoy, turning in the space between McCoy’s thighs, he could smell the coffee on his breath. Jim settled with his ass pressed to the edge of the desk.

“What you smiling at?” McCoy glanced down at Jim’s fly, but still refused to speak. “Ship’s cat got yer tongue, Bones?”

Bones parted his lips ever so slightly, his arms across his chest, just damn looking at Jim. What the—?

Jim took McCoy’s hands and unravelled his arms so he could press against him, he nudged his cock to McCoy’s thigh, while his lovesick mouth found McCoy’s bottom lip and pulled gently. Toothpaste clean. McCoy didn’t kiss back, yet he didn’t resist. His hands rested on Jim’s hips, neither tugging nor pushing away. Jim wasn’t quite sure what McCoy wanted but he was damn clear on what he needed right now, to plunder that mouth. He doubted he’d be up to sex, his back hurt too damn much but, dear God, he needed _this_ right now. McCoy still didn’t resist or reciprocate which Jim found hot as hell.

With a gentleness that surprised him considering how his poor cock was bent over and crushed in his jeans, and demanding a little more urgency, Jim took his tongue on a leisurely route along McCoy’s lower lip, from one corner to another, tilting his head to get the right angle, feeling McCoy’s long, even breaths whisper against him as he moved, then he licked across his top lip, dipped in to explore the bump of McCoy’s teeth with the tip of his tongue. He pushed his constricted cock a little harder against him, “Bones,” he murmured into McCoy’s clean shaven face, taking a moment to collect himself. “Kiss me?”

McCoy responded by parting his lips more, letting out a stuttered breath and pulling Jim in close with his hand to the back of his neck. _Yes_. There it was – the wall of grouch crumbling. Jim swore he could feel his heart bouncing against his ribcage. He tugged the drawstring at McCoy’s hips, could feel that he was hard too now and with practiced hands, shoved down his pants at the same time as thrusting his tongue deep into McCoy—

“What the fuck?” Jim pulled back and scooped his finger into his mouth, taking out the metallic object Bones had transferred during their kiss, staring at Bones, aware that he must have looked pretty dumb with his slack-jaw. He didn’t need to look down to know what it was he was holding. “Jesus, Bones, _Jesus_!” He saw a muscle tense on McCoy’s face, twitching down the side of his eye, the flicker of worry across his eyes.

“I—” Bones mumbled.

Jim closed his eyes, took a breath and gasped against McCoy’s mouth, unsure what to say, suddenly conscious he hadn’t showered since the night before and must be stinking out McCoy’s office. He felt McCoy shift against him.

“It was a dumb idea, sorry, I should have—” McCoy whispered, his face crumpled and he looked away at a point on the shelf over Jim’s right shoulder.

Oh, God. Want rippled through Jim, he clamped his lips hard against his lover, suddenly overwhelmed, his arms wrapped around strong shoulders, legs curling round his hips, bringing him nearer despite the fact he doubted an atom covered in lube could have slid in what space existed between them. His fist tight around his present, he could hear his own needy little moans, McCoy’s whispered words.

“I thought you were pissed at me,” Jim managed to fit in between gulped breaths, kissing McCoy’s face like his life depended on it. Love-stoned and light-headed, he slid his free hand down the front of McCoy’s pants, grasped his cock roughly, pulling him close again so their erections touched base to tip.

“I am, darlin’, I’m always pissed at you.” More kisses, his hand fumbled to meet Jim’s fist, to unlock his closed fingers, to pull out the ring. “So?”

“Yes, Bones, _yes_.”

McCoy shuddered, let out a moan of relief and manhandled Jim so he sat on the desk.

“Fuck, ouch, _careful_!” Jim couldn’t help laughing. He parted his legs and watched as McCoy sank to his knees. Their eyes locked and he slipped the ring onto Jim’s hand. Just staring up at him, his eyes the colour of rain-drenched autumn leaves.

“Happy Christmas, Jim.”

“ _Under his tonge a trewe - love he beer_ ,” Jim quoted, his voice breaking.

“What is that, Klingon?” McCoy growled.

Can a face ‘fold its arms’? Jim found himself wondering, still amazed at how every part of Bones could express grumpiness, “No, asshole,” he said with affection, “Even you can recognise a bit of Klingon - it’s _Chaucer_. Middle English.”

“Ah.”

Jim ran his left hand through McCoy’s messy hair, while pulling his cock free with the other, holding it in place so Bones could take it in.

“It stops me coming, you know, when I’m close.” He waved the end of his cock at McCoy. “Plus it’s kinda romantic - bit like you getting down on your knees is.”

“Now, why on earth would you want to stop yourself from comin’?”

And if Bones was going to go all deep south on him, he’d have to do the whole of The Miller’s Tale, but he said, “My back, Bones - I don’t think I can move.“

Sinful eyes looked up at him and McCoy’s mouth fell open enough for muffled words, “Just enjoy, baby, you can give me a proper seein’ to once it’s good an’ healed.” And Jim gasped when those hot, delicious fucking lips slid home. Heat coiling in his spine.

“Bones – I’m going to last about- _oh_ —”

McCoy replaced his lips with a thumb swirl across the tip and bad back or no bad back, Jim couldn’t help rocking forward to meet him. His breath quickening, he watched in awe when McCoy pulled away, and fisted him with long, rough strokes, his eyes on Jim’s face the whole time, his chest heaving. Jim’s hand gripped McCoy’s wrist as he came with a swallowed grunt and watched his come arch onto McCoy’s triumphant face. McCoy dipped his head to take Jim’s cock into his mouth and suck the last out of him, Jim’s fingers clenching in his hair, the gold of the ring simple, solid against the softness.

McCoy sat back on his heels and pushed Jim’s leg aside so he could get at the drawer and find some wipes.

Loose boned, Jim sighed and watched through half-closed eyes while McCoy cleaned them both up, a little awed at what had just taken place.

“You want me to—?” he finally offered.

“It’s ok - I’ll take a rain-check,” McCoy drawled. “‘fact, I’ll take a whole fuckin’ rainstorm of checks.” He got up from the floor with a grunt, “Godamn knees.” He stood between Jim’s thighs, nudging his erection across Jim’s belly. “Hey,” he said, kissing Jim’s temple, “When did we start to get old?” He pressed his forehead against him and began to pump himself while Jim stroked his arms, ran his knuckles across his face.

“We’ve still got to do that part, Bones, “Jim breathed into McCoy’s ear when he could feel him getting close. “The best is still to come between us. Thank you, Bones, thank you… fucking love you.“ And he pressed his ring finger against McCoy’s mouth and held tight as he came with a hitched gasp of, “ _Jim_.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, McCoy leaning on Jim, Jim stroking his back, kissing gentle little kisses.

McCoy went to the cabinet to pull out his second set of scrubs of the morning, uncharacteristically quiet.

“I really need to get down,” Jim finally said.

“Really? You look kinda cute up there.”

“I smell of come.”

“That you do.”

He held out his arm so Jim could use it as support and edge off the desk.

McCoy pressed the door release. “I could have choked. I thought you were never going to kiss me.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve probably built up a resistance all those times you’ve given me head.” Jim waggled his eyebrows. The only part he dared move. “Bones—”

“I left a couple of pills for you there.” He pointed to a pot on the shelf behind Jim. “They’re weak but they’re pretty much all you’re allowed, being such a primadonna and all. And I’ll bring up a regen blanket for you a bit later. Now, I gotta go to work.” He took Jim’s hand and kissed the palm, then the ring again. “I’ll have that back until the big day, thank you kindly.”

Jim reluctantly pulled the ring off and handed it over. McCoy opened the top drawer and popped it back into its case.

McCoy wrapped his arms around him and Jim put his chin on his shoulder. They exchanged wet, lazy kisses.

“When did you buy it, Bones? I mean - how long have you been keeping this a secret?”

McCoy pulled back and scanned Jim’s face. “In Georgia, same day you recorded the holovid with Jo-Jo.”

“Jesus, _really_? Guess it was written in the stars, huh?”

“Yes, Jim, the Christmas stars,” McCoy grinned with, to give him credit, only a _touch_ of snark. “I figured after seven years of you annoying the hell out of me, it couldn’t get any worse, so we might as well.”

“Grumpy old bastard,” Jim grinned.

“ _Your_ grumpy old bastard.” McCoy gave him one last kiss. “Now go take a shower before I have to call security.”

~FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: thanks to ceres_libera for giving me permission to borrow her original idea for a regen blanket - thanks, bb, and Jim's back is most grateful too!


End file.
